But Will You Love Me Tomorrow?
by Liete
Summary: -UK/US, US/?- 'America was too in love and too full of longing to care that he was probably being used.'
1. But Will You Love Me Tomorrow?

**But Will You Love Me Tomorrow?**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.  
**

The first time it happened, America had been elated. But then, it was only to be expected. He was young, naïve. So hopelessly in love that he didn't stop to think that perhaps England was too drunk to realize what he was doing. He was too lost in heated kisses, breathless declarations of love, and centuries of want, so lost that he was all too happy to let England take what he had been willing to give all along.

The following morning he awoke to find it hadn't been a dream, his first sight that of England's bare back, and happiness like warmth spread through him at the realization that he was still there. He fancied the notion of cuddling with England long into the morning, making a late breakfast for the two of them, and spending the remainder of the day together. Perfect, like something out of the movies.

But as he reached for the warm body beside him, wrapped his arms around him, nuzzled his face into his neck, England stiffened immediately. America couldn't see his face as he was shoved roughly away, England quickly getting up, gathering his clothes and leaving without a word, leaving America bereft and confused.

Worse still, when America attempted to confront the other nation about it, the subject had been changed, not even the slightest of blushes to betray what England was really thinking. America hadn't allowed himself to show how hurt he really was. Heroes never crumbled under the weight of their problems. They overcame them, came out on top.

But then it happened again. And again. And so it went. America too in love and too full of longing to care that he was probably being used. He liked to think that the alcohol merely made England bolder than usual, allowed him to confess to things that he normally wouldn't ever say. Even when England would pretend that nothing had happened after. His optimism had never failed him in the past, and he believed it would continue to see him through anything else that would come his way, including this odd situation he had with England.

More than anything, though, he wanted a real answer. One not muddled by too many drinks and his own haze of desire.

And oh, how hard it was to push England away. To pull away from that mouth desperately seeking his. To ignore those slurred, but earnest sweet nothings. But he did, not without some force or regret.

"England, stop. I won't this time." America said firmly, holding England's wrists at length and keeping his expression as cool as possible. Drunk though England may be, it wouldn't do to show his own inhibitions at that moment.

"But I love you!" England whined, once again trying to wrench his way out of America's strong hold on him and get at his mouth.

"And I love you! But that's just it! I'm not afraid to tell you when I'm sober! Hell, I'd tell the whole world if I didn't know that would piss you off. But you, _you _need to hide behind alcohol, so I don't know if you really mean what you say or if you just need an easy fuck and an excuse."

England didn't say anything in reply to that, just swayed on his feet and stared at him with glazed eyes, then hiccuped.

"…Why the hell am I even trying to say this to you now?" He squeezed his eyes shut, not daring to release one of England's wrists so he could rub his temples. He finally opened them again, England still staring blankly at him. "I guess I can't throw you out, so you can sleep on my bed, but that's it."

Not giving England the chance to reply that time, he dragged him up the stairs and shoved him perhaps a little too roughly into his room, and held the door shut until England finally stopped whining and trying to get the door open.

At length, America finally curled up on his couch, angry at himself and angry at England. But he also felt that if England was upset about this, then he'd understand how America had felt all that time. Bereft. But although he was still madly in love with England, he wouldn't let this continue anymore. He'd gotten along just fine without England's love all that time, hadn't he?

The clamor of feet coming down the stairs and towards him was unmistakable, but he knew England wouldn't try anything if he feigned sleep, so he closed his eyes and stayed still.

Apparently that didn't deter England however as America suddenly felt a warm body pressed up against his, and arms going around him.

"England, I said-"

But he stopped when he realized England had stopped. America noticed with a start that they were in the same position he had tried to put them in that morning after their first time. England's arms were around him, his face nuzzled into his neck.

"I love you," England whispered. His words weren't slurred, just quiet and sincere. America squared his jaw, but reached for one of England's hands and held onto it firmly.

He could only hope that this time England would own up to his words in the morning.


	2. Angel of the Morning

**Angel of the Morning  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

**A/N: This is the second in a series of one-shots related to the same storyline. There is one more story after this.  
**

America was warm when he awakened. A pleasant, comforting sort of warmth that he wouldn't mind being wrapped in forever. As the haze of sleep passed, America realized just _why_ he felt as such. There was still a body pressed up behind him, wrapped around him. England. He couldn't help but smile as he let his eyes drift shut again. He didn't dare move, knowing that the moment would shatter if he did.

It wasn't very long before he felt England stir and then abruptly stiffen. America almost tensed as well, almost turned and pulled England into an embrace he wouldn't be able to fight his way out of, but he didn't have to. England went lax again, his arms tightened around the American and his nose nuzzled along his cheek, inhaling deeply. America's chest tightened. If he had to feign sleep forever to stay like that, he thought he wouldn't mind.

But that was just it, wasn't it. England thought he was asleep, and therefore oblivious to what he was doing. It wasn't a tangle of limbs, cuddling or lazy kisses, or anything America had imagined their relationship would be. He couldn't be happy with things the way they were.

As if hearing his thoughts, England pulled away and America knew he would leave if he didn't say something, do something.

"England," he said a bit desperately as he sat up. England's eyes widened, and he was so tense that America knew he had to choose his next words carefully or England would bolt for the door and that would be it. Then he'd go on pretending that nothing had happened, the vicious cycle continuing. "At least let me make you breakfast, all right? Better than any crap you'll likely go eat."

For a few moments England looked as if he really would just make a beeline for the door, but then he visibly relaxed and he let out a resigned sigh.

"Foolish child."

America made a mean stack of pancakes, made all the more delicious by the syrup that Canada had given him, and with the way England had wrinkled his nose at the cup of weak, store bought tea (that America had bought just in case) he had grudgingly accepted, America figured he could stand to show off a little.

Especially since the silence that hung over them while they ate was unbearable. America wanted to ask England if he really meant any of those things he had said while drunk, or if what they had been doing even meant anything to him. He wanted answers, but his voice wouldn't cooperate with his brain, and so they sat in silence. England was as prim as ever, nothing about him saying that he too sought closure to the situation they'd landed themselves in, and it drove America crazy. How did England maintain such a stiff composure?

They finally finished eating, and England stared at him as if expecting something, but what, America didn't know.

"I won't ask you to stay, but just know that there won't be any coming back. Not like this."

The tea cup England had been raising to his lips abruptly hit its saucer with a loud clink. Finally there was the hint of a spark in England's eyes.

"You know it would never work. We're not people, we're nations. The only love is that of your country." His tone was too formal and cold, as if forced.

America shrugged and smiled ruefully. "Call it that pesky optimism of mine."

England squared his jaw, but calmly resumed sipping his tea. "And that is why you're a foolish child."

"Then why do you keep coming back?"

England's head shot up and he glared accusingly at America. America stared intently back at him, not about to cower under that heated gaze and backpedal. Now that he had him, there was no turning back.

"Need is a funny thing, isn't it," England finally spat out.

"Need." America let out a barking laugh, which turned into bitter, derisive laughter. He returned the cold look England was giving him with one of his own. "And yet you can't go to France? Where there wouldn't be any strings attached? No, it has to be America, who's in love with you and can't say no." All he could do was laugh. So that was it?

England's expression dissolved into something a bit more remorseful, and America stopped laughing. "It's not just that," England said quietly.

"Then what, England?"

England didn't respond, and he had stopped looking directly at America by that point, apparently finding his now empty tea cup much more interesting. America stood and made to kiss England, who wrenched his head out of the way.

"America, don't."

"Why not?" Again silence. "I'd give you the world if you'd let me." Too desperate.

"And I'd just take it from you." Too resigned.

Finally, America realized, he had answer enough.


	3. Out of My Life

**Out of My Life  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

"I hear that Amerique and Japon are quite happy together," France offhandedly remarked as he slid onto the empty stool next to England.

"Hnn," England grunted over his glass of scotch as he turned his gaze over to where the two mentioned nations were standing. America had his arm around Japan as he chatted animatedly to their fellow nations. It was subtle, but Japan was visibly relaxed in America's half-embrace. England scowled at the sight and turned his attention back to his almost empty glass.

France clicked his tongue next to him, having followed England's gaze. "Jealous, Angleterre? Or weren't you in love with our golden boy?"

"Of course I'm in love with him, you bastard. I always have been," England spat out and downed what was left of his drink in one gulp. The alcohol burned as it went down his throat, a pleasant sensation that would eventually make him forget the sight of America and Japan together for a few blessed hours.

"Pray tell, why didn't you inform him of this?" France swirled his wine glass in his hand, staring pointedly at England out of the corner of his eye.

England motioned for the bartender to pour him another drink and willed himself to not look back over at the new couple. "I'd simply hurt him."

"And what you did to him didn't?" There was the slightest lilt of derisive amusement in France's voice and England grimaced.

It was true. Using America to satisfy his own needs and giving nothing in return was perhaps worse than expressing his love and risking the chance that he would eventually hurt America. No, of course it was worse. It would have been far better to give America some happiness than to give him nothing at all.

He really had been drunk the first time he'd slept with America, the realization shocking him to his core the next morning when he'd awoken naked in America's bed, with the young nation curling himself around England. It must have hurt to be left alone like that without even a word, but England had been too horrified that he'd allowed himself to get carried away to confront the issue. Somehow, though, they fell into a routine with England showing up on America's doorstep and leaving without explanation the next morning. He'd been drunk a few of those times, too, but he'd actually faked it most of the time. He needed an excuse, and a bit of alcohol on his breath did the trick nicely. He was too proud to admit that he was in love, too indecisive to admit that he wanted America in his life like that. He'd taken for granted how in love America was, and had assumed that he'd always be around when England needed him.

"Love won't wait forever," France's voice broke his reverie, as if reading his thoughts.

England stared at the fresh glass of scotch placed in front of him and scoffed. "I know that, you fool, I just didn't think that he'd…"

He stopped and turned to look over at America and Japan again. America said something that made Japan give him an exasperated look, but then there was the slightest of fond smiles on his face and America's face lit up with mirth and affection. England could recall those beautiful eyes staring at him with warmth and love as he gasped out "I love you, England. I love you..!"

France leaned on the counter with that infuriatingly smarmy look on his face, and England scowled at him as he took a drink. "At least the worst Amerique does to l'amour is make terrible romantic comedies. You, however, think that using someone and never telling them your feelings is enough to keep them around."

The last thing England wanted was to be reprimanded by France of all people. His hand tightened around his glass, nearly breaking it. He whipped around to glare wildly at the Frenchman. "It doesn't matter now, does it? I don't want your perverted arse telling me what I did wrong."

France smirked and shrugged as he stood to leave. "What do you plan to do?"

"What can I do? You said it yourself, he's happy with Japan. He deserves to be happy, and I don't plan to ruin that."

"Then you truly _are_ in love, aren't you, Angleterre?"

England didn't bother to humor France with a response as the nation left him with his drink and his thoughts. He stared through the liquid at the bottom of the glass for a few moments before he lifted it and held it up for an invisible toast.

"To your happiness, America," he said quietly and then took a drink.

---

**A/N: So yes, England really was in love with America the whole time. Why didn't they end up together? I felt it would cheapen America's feelings for them to get together after what England did. He still deserved a happy ending, though, and England needed to learn a lesson. Hope you enjoyed, regardless!**


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